


That Which We Call a Rose

by anima



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 08:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anima/pseuds/anima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To you, with heart racing and knees dancing and head spinning, he was Jake; but first, he was English.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Which We Call a Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Just an obscenely self-indulgent oneshot I scribbled after I took a little too kindly to the egg nog...my humblest apologies to Mr. Nabokov.

English, light of your soul, love of your life. Your heart, your hope. En-guh-lish: the arch of your lips against unyielding teeth, the dance of your tongue from the base to the tip of your lips as they hasten the world to shush-shush-shush just for two syllables and hear the music in your mouth. He was the nightmare at Golgotha; he was Son, he was Boy-o, he was Buster; to lips painted with dark hues and strong spirits, to cyan blue eyes and unrequited hearts, to you! to you, with heart racing and knees dancing and head spinning, he was Jake; but first, he was English.

English, the start and the end, the heirloom, the inheritance. English, tossed in the wind and hurled down a blade; crowned unbeknownst by a solitary king; slipped under covers for a lonely boy's lonely nights. English, an old thought sighed past young lips. English thrown down and English begged to pull you up. English, whispered by modest voice and roared by heaving lungs. English, slipping past your throat, rolling in your mouth, tasting sharp and crisp and wild and lingering against your palate. English, English, English.

At the center, the peak, the apex of your affair with English, he becomes Jake. 

_Jake._

The frenzied bliss of a surname on your lips had no chance against this, a clean shot from your mouth and a clean shot through your heart and you're gone, baby, gone. Jake, a sound like a gunshot at your ear, at your back, always at your side. Your siren, your harpoon, your hook-line-and-sinker because you'd rather drown at sea than let this go. Jake, Jake, the staccato of his feet through the night, of his fingers on your thighs and what strange hope is this? Jake, Jake, Jake, the pound of your heart in your throat, the stutter of your lips on his skin, the tempo thrumming down your spine and oh, you could play this song for eternity. A word like a bullet and you're down for the count, it's Jake on your eyes, Jake in your mind, Jake in your arms and Jake please oh please never leave your arms. 

Jake drawn out and Jake cut short, Jake picked apart and Jake pulled loose, J-a-k-e flung out to reel him back but he's gone, baby, gone. No J's and all aches and your words are wringing themselves dry, painting themselves over in black and white and where was the green? where was the gold? Jake, strangled from your throat and torn from your chest and pried from your hands, Jake strung up out of reach and out of sight. Jake, spat like a curse and wept like a sin. Jake, whispered through stilled lips like your last living breath.

Jake. Jake. Jake.


End file.
